


Radio Silence

by RubyFiamma



Category: Gangsta. (Manga)
Genre: Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:26:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4688993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyFiamma/pseuds/RubyFiamma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galahad struggles to deal with the aftermath of death and Hausen is there to reassure him that it’s okay to grieve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Radio Silence

**Radio Silence**

* * *

 

There's an audible click as the playback device ejects Doug's tag, and despite Galahad doing his best to clean off the blood, his eye still catches laces of it tarnishing the shineless metal.

His hand is shaking when he reaches for it, hovers over the playback device before he makes up his mind on listening to the will again or just leaving it inside the machine while he stares unseeing at the cracked and broken plaster and rebar; remnants of Doug's bedroom after the attack on the guild.

It seems fitting, Galahad thinks, that Doug's room also be destroyed, like it's a sign from the gods, a baleful premonition of events they had yet to foresee. He should have known that brat would get himself into trouble, he should have known never to leave him alone, Doug's too reckless and doesn't think things through  _of course_ something like this was going to happen and Galahad should have seen it coming, he should have  _told_ him to be more careful, he should have  _taught_ Doug that patience will only make him stronger, he should have  _known_ this was the way Doug was going to die. He just thought he'd have more time.

_"I've been told that... I'd only live to twenty-five. But I guess I take after my mom 'cause it looks like I'm not gonna make it that long."_

Galahad wants to cover his ears to block out the sound, but the will is still on replay inside his head, there's no escaping the dip of Doug's voice, the moment it begins to waver; the minute Galahad can hear the shake of fear rattle through Doug's tone.

He's... almost  _glad_  that Doug went out with a fight, that he was killed in the line of duty and not because his compensation was crushing him from the inside, slowly imploding. It's comforting to know Doug died with honor, and he's thankful he didn't have to watch Doug die slowly and painfully and that he got to spend Doug's last breath with him.

 _"You did a good job."_ Because he did... didn't he?

It still doesn't make it right. It doesn't make it right and now Galahad can't tell if he's shaking from fury-fueled adrenaline or the overwhelming pressure ballooning in his chest, expanding against his ribs and lungs and heart.

_"I know it's kinda dumb but still... Galahad Woehor, this recorded will's for you."_

When he removes Doug's tags from the slot, he's careful, pulling slow and he can still feel the electronic warmth soaking through the metal but it isn't right either. They should be against Doug's skin, warm with exuberant vitality but now they're cold, icy even, when they lose the heat from the display box and don't gain the warmth from Galahad's palm.

The silence is deafening, he can't hear any of the guild downstairs or the screaming of people still running from the damning hell Ergastulum has become. What he does hear is the soft whir of the device and the sound of the breath he draws is heavy and wet, sticks to his lungs. It's too quiet in this room now , like radio silence, Galahad knows he'll never hear Doug's voice again and all he has left is the will recorded to the other's tags.  It's too silent anywhere all of a sudden knowing that the ever present overly excited babble of Doug clinging to his side will no longer be a thing for Galahad to look forward to.

_"Even if you are... still I -- I hope... it's you at my side."_

There's inexplicable pain clawing at his chest; he can still hear the moment Doug's voice gains a smile and at that moment a splitting fissure tears through his heart and Galahad chokes around the lump burning jagged in his throat and he knows it isn't possible but the room just became smaller, space closing in on him and the air is getting thinner and it's getting harder to breathe.

The hand at his shoulder doesn't make him jump, Galahad somehow knew that even in the silence Hausen would find him, sitting in the middle of the well-worn floor with nothing but the little black box at his feet.

He doesn't look up, but he hears the jingle the other's tags make when the metal clinks against itself. Then there's pressure at the top of his head in the weight of a kiss, long-pressed and loving like that alone is enough to purge this empty feeling sinking into his soul. Hausen's arms are lacing around his neck as a hand comes up to rest against his cheek and when Galahad lets his eyes slide shut to the warmth radiating from Hausen's palm, he's sees the same hand brushing the hood of Doug's sweater from his face, tucking the thick dreaded lock behind Doug's ear; there's so much blood and it's staining the ivory-white of Doug's favourite hoodie and seeping through Galahad's dark shirt and now there's blood smeared over Doug's freckled skin as Hausen's thumb smooths over his cheek.

_"... I see."_

And they stand there for a moment, with Doug's lithe body weightless in Galahad's arms like two parents who've lost their child and the more Galahad thinks about it, the more that makes sense. He's never lost a child but he can imagine this is what it feels like -- like your ribs snapping one by one then your rib cage is being cracked open, and suddenly everything is exposed and first it seizes your lungs, makes it so you feel like you can't breathe without them, like you're never going to breathe again without them. And next to go is your heart, the organ that is needed to sustain life but shatters with such fragility under the loss of never being able to see them smile again, or praise them for doing good, or to even let them know how much they're loved -- even when they don't think so.

And then Galahad's eyes are burning, salt-sharp tears filling the wells of his eyes and threatening to fall but he has to hold back, he can't let anyone see him break.

But then Hausen's speaking, so soft Galahad can barely hear it over the profound absence of sound thundering through Galahad's ears, but the other’s breath spills warm against his neck and Galahad's feels like there are waves of comfort that ripple calm into his blood.

"Hey," Hausen's saying, lying his hands flat so they spread over Galahad's throbbing heart. He's urging Galahad back, and Galahad capitulates without any resistance, allows himself to be lead until he can feel the knobs of the other's knees pressed into his back. "You still have a bit of time to let it out. It's okay to grieve, Galahad."

And Galahad's breath comes out shallow now, short-sharp bursts of air exploding from his lungs and he feels like he's relieved that someone else thinks so, but surrendering sure hurts something awful, like the acceptance he wasn't trying to deny is still looking for vengeance and realising his poisoned blood has allowed him to live this long as punishment -- as if his compensation for his strength is longevity and the price he pays is outliving the people he loves, watching hunters and others snuff out their lives and if that doesn't take them then this cursed life does.

He doesn't think as he moves, he just does. He twists into Hausen, throws the heavy weight of his arms around the other's waist as Hausen straightens up to support the embrace. The first sob that comes is broken, a wretched sound full of wet air that gets caught under the pressure in his chest, and Galahad presses his face into Hausen's hip to muffle the sounds as the patterned fabric of the other's pants catch wet with his tears. Everything seems like it's breaking, falling out from underneath him and for a moment Galahad's never felt so lost and he's never been one to think his strength makes him strong, but just this once he wishes that he had the fortitude to face these things with a mind and soul that's not affected.

"It's okay," Hausen says again, his hands moving into Galahad's hair, his fingertips ghosting over skin, and the heat of his gentle touch is enough to chase away the chill riding permanent against Galahad's spine. "This is what makes us human, Gal."

He's right, Galahad thinks, sighing out the last of the ache plaguing his lungs. This isn't over, there are still people he loves, there are still people he needs to protect. And he can do it in the name of Doug, he can still love, he can still _live_  -- he can do it all for him.

As the tears come to an end, and Galahad feels like he can breathe again; to the rhythm of the other's hand stroking through his hair, he presses a kiss to Hausen's stomach and listens to the still quiet of the room; nothing but the soft sound of Hausen's heart resonating through his chest and Galahad understands now, if he's looking past this miserable hand they've all been given, they still have a choice to do something good with the life they have, and  _that's_  what makes them human.


End file.
